Please Slaughter My Fears
by Windup Dollie
Summary: NnyxSquee Other people are screaming too, but Johnny only really noticed Squee's, with an apologetic and abashed expression he turns around and conceals the blade. He takes a few steps closer and lets a reassuring smile grace his pale lips. summary change
1. Sentient Cockroaches

_Chapter 1:_

"Such shallow little bugs" A shadowed figure crouched in the corner of a bare room, pearly teeth glinting in the light of a single candle as he spoke. "Ruled by their perceptions of 'normal', and out-casting, alienating, fearing, and attacking those who do not fall into this category." He stood and walked towards the candle, its flickering light illuminating with its dancing flames only what lay in the center of the room, the light just barely caressing the walls.

The terrified eyes of the young man's soon-to-be victims came and went with that dangerous dance the candle put on for them all. He knelt down on his hands and knees and bent forward, so now he could feel the dancer's heat on his nose. Incontrast to the terror in their eyes, this man's own eyes were two toned, in the emotional sense, that is.

Villainous glee overlapping hurt and depression.

"These.... these shit-bags," He growled bitterly to the flame, slowly he raised his left fist so that it hovered next to his face. "Because you just can't call them 'bugs'. Isnt that right, Mr. Samsa?" He opened his fist to reveal a writhing cockroach, held between his index finger and thumb by one of its antennas. The man frowned as he held it over the flame, as it jerks in.... pain? Does this bug feel pain?

"Not 'bugs', hm, Mr. Samsa? Because a bug doesn't discriminate against what's different, doesn't hurt it, doesn't laugh, doesn't yell. Because it's too simple... It can't." He whipped his head to the side, spiked hair bobbing with the action, and blows a strand out of his eyes, as a crazed grin splits his face. He locks eyes with one of the shit-bags he has shackled to the wall.

A man. Or immature little shit, whatever you like, because this one... this one is here for for being just such an inane anal tick, like most the others.

"Don't you think so too?" He cackles waving the burnt husk of what was once Mr. Samsa in his victims face, the victim doesn't reply, why? Well his lips are staple-gunned shut, for starters. "I guess you are simple, but unlike the recently deceased Mr. Samsa, you **can**. You **can** discriminate against what is different from yourself... Like me for instance." He dropped the cockroach and reached into his back pocket, pulling out two tightly folded leather gloves. He slips one on his right hand and raises it to the victime's face. Gently, ever so gently, he lines up the pad of his thumb with the victim's right eye.

He struggles, jerking against the chains that hold his wrists high above his head and the ropes that hold his ankles firmly together. The man's torturer only grins his crazed grin, that deep-seeded depression and hurt shines through the manic glee clearer now.

--

He removes the glove from his hand, internally cringing at the sick opaque liquid that coats the thumb. He tosses it carelessly to the other side of the room, staying silent for a few moments, listening to the quiet broken sobs of the victim.

"Now that I have allowed you speech for the moment, I am going to ask you a question."

He turns to face the shallowly breating man, smirking at the bloodied hole that was once where his eye sat. Sat and let this filthy piece of dookie see and watch. See and judge. He snarled.

"What is my name?" The victim raises his head tiredly, pain and question flickered in his single eye, "Wh-what?" His bloodied lips slurred the word, but that was his own fault wasn't it? When there are pieces of steel in your flesh holding your lips shut, it's wise not to try to scream in agony, hm? So simple.

"What. Is. My. Name?" He grounds out, growing tired of this game already. When the victim does not answer, he pulls out a hooked blade and slips it into the empty cavern that is the victim's eye socket, the tip set atop where Mr. Samsa rests, not far enough in to puncture the brain.

"N-nn-noo-o-ooo-o, p-plee-ase..." The victim wails in miserable torment.

"SHUT UP." He knees the shit-bag in the groin, and answers the posed question for him; "Its Johnny C. You piece of shit. My name-- _MY NAME IS JOHNNY, NOT FAGGOT_." And with that scream, Johnny C. thrusts the blade in deep and rids the world of another sentient cockroach.

_(end part one)_

* * *

_A/N: Hello, The Name's Windup Dollie, and I Bring You NnyxSqee. That Means Yaoi, BoyxBoy, Gay! So If You Are A Shallow Minded Cunt Licker, Leave. For Everybody Else, Have A Rainbow -Passes Out Rainbows-_

_The Romance Doesn't Start For awhile, and Stuff. Anywho:_

_Don't Own Johnny The Homicidal Maniac. Jhonen Does though.... Please Don't Sue Me._

* * *

_(part two start)_

The wall is freshly painted, it's acrid smell is making him feel sick, so he slinks up the many series of staircases that will lead him out of these dimly lit torture rooms of his. The wooden plank creak and groan beneath his steel-toed boots, he drifts into melancholy. A quiet daze that gnaws at his thoughts, sending whispered wishes through his mind... an irritated sigh passes his pale lips.

Still, **Still**! He has not beaten down those damned human qualities that make him feel so... But that's it, isn't it, 'Feel'?? Feel hurt, Feel Misery, Feel pain, Feel.... hungry.

"Why!? It makes no sense, for to have these feelings, and only have them bring me such depressing thoughts and needs. Why can't I get rid of them!?" He drops his head in irritation, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.... "Oh?" In the dim light that shines, filtered through the splintered door at the top of the stairs Johnny sees a slight movement down by his feet. He crouches, a scowl plastered to his face. "Mr. Samsa? Why do you taunt and goad me like this, with your simplicity. With your inability to feel?" The Homicidal Maniac straightens himself out, coming to stand again. With his next step, he kills Mr. Samsa for the second time this evening.

"If I could only be like you... I'd kill to be like you...." He paused, seemingly in thought, with his hand resting on the doorknob that lead back to the main house. A ghoulish grin plays across his lips, and he swings the door open, "Oh but I already do!"

....

"If Only It Would Work.....

I feel like a Cherry BrainFreezy and some Senor Salsa chips."

_(end chapter one)_


	2. Wacky TwentyFourSeven

_A/N: Hi, Windup Dollie here. I decided to change this from Romance/Hurt/Comfort to Romance/Humor, upon the realization of two things:_

_1. I can't write anything serious for too long, and have it turn out well._

_2. JTHM is only chock full of teen angst, depressing themes, and badly constructed melodramatic prose a fraction of the time. The rest is just ludicrously insane, ironic horror._

_I'm not a very good writer, so I don't think I'll be able to write it like that. But I'll try. And thanks to my Beta: cratbro._

* * *

_Chapter 2:_

After changing out of his blood soaked shirt and pants, and exchanging them for not-as-soaked clothing, Johnny stuffs his wallet into his jeans pocket and steps through the front door. He doesn't bother with a jacket, the tepid night hardly called for one. He casually slinks out his front door and across the barren eyesore that is the front lawn. Dead squirrle here, dying kitten there; He steps on them both for good measure.

It was nice enough to walk, so thats just what he did, his swinging gate set at a fairly laid back pace.

"dun du nuh~ Cherry Brainfreezy, hm hm!" He hums a cheery tune to himself, never mind the blood spatter that flecks his striped "Z?" shirt. It had been a good day, and to the homicidal maniac it felt as if nothing could ever-

Tire squeals, laughter, and a booming base line. The flashy sports car zooms by, leaving a thoroughly soaked Johnny C. behind in it's wake.

....

"FOOK!" Johnny sputters, his good mood following the sloshing watter on the road side: down the drain.

The black haired man lifts two pale hands and vigorously wipes the muddy water from his face, scowling and noting the color, license plate, and direction of the car. Red, FTL 010, the opposite way of the 24/7.

Instead of tracking down those fuckers, the maniac decided that he'd just kill the cashier at the convenience store instead. What? He really wanted that BrainFreezy.

Picking up the pace a little, Johnny makes his way down the deserted sidewalk, crossing the street at one point to avoid accidentally coming in contact with that creepy chihuahua.

"How I loath that dog... its so...." the term 'Wacky' came to mind, but even the thought of his own self using that excruciatingly stupid word filled him rage. OH SUCH RAGE. But he both mentally and physically shook it off, trying to lapse back into his lighter state of mind. That lighter state, induced usually by a mass murder or a good self-loathing rant, and yes, the mere idea of a Cherry Brainfreezy.

"I do love them so," the maniac continues off his thoughts aloud, not noticing that he has reached his destination until a couple snickers sound to his left. Johnny stops and turns, looking directly at the assortment of teenage sluts and morons; the sluttish girls wearing sickeningly short skirts and tube tops. While the morons smoked, judging by the sickeningly sweet smell: marijuana. He finds them all to look pretty drunk. And what they're all doing, at 11 PM and drunk hanging around in front of the 24/7 on a Tuesday night, hell if he knew.

"Lookit him," A tall muscled one, with a small head and stooped shoulders snorted, motioning to the homicidal maniac. "He's talkin' to himself all crazy like. Like a crazy person who's.... all crazy."

'Oh what a genius you are.' Johnny thinks idly, while marking him to be the first to die. The boy's gaggle of friends laugh despite how retarded his statement was. All unknowing that they will never get the chance to drive into a ditch tonight, as the pale man pushes past them and enters the convenience store.

The cashier cringes noticeably when he recognizes who the jingle from the bells over the door had just announced the presence of. He shrinks back when Johnny snatches a bag of Senõr Salsa chips from a rack near the counter, on his way to the back of the store.

The Brainfreezy machine sat, in all it's gray and greasy glory, against an equally gray and greasy wall. These facts hardly deter the thin man, and he enthusiastically grabs a plastic "SUCK" cup and slips it under the Cherry dispensing tap. And like every other time Johnny preforms this ritual, he pauses before pulling on the switch and reads the sign; "Pull gently... oh yeah, that's good" He does as it says, and vaguely wonders if this text is a mere figment of his imagination, or if the person who runs the 24/7 is just sick.

The machine is running, seeing as how it's not even midnight, but even so, after about five cashiers they had wised up. No longer does the BrainFreezy get turned off at 2AM! The dark-haired man laughs maniacally, traumatizing the little girl behind him, who had been waiting to get herself a Brainfreezy too. But she goes completely ignored, in favor of a big slurp from the SUCK cup and a happy little skip over to the cash register. Sadly enough, the girl's mother happened to be standing in the way. Sad for her that is. She didn't even have time to scream, and only her daughter saw the crazed laughing-man plunge a dagger through her back and into the woman's heart. She slumps to the floor and Johnny conceal's the weapon.

With that out of the way, the man in a striped "Question Sleep" shirt learned of what had been holding the mother's attention. A little boy and a pack of beer.

"B-but mister, please... I-I, m-my daddy, he n-neeeds---"His large doe eyes began to gloss over with wetness, crystal tears slipping down his pale cheeks, dripping from his chin and landing on his baggy, striped tee. The boy clutched his ghoulish teddy bear close, and tried to stifle his weak sobs. Everybody was watching the scene, the hammered teens had come inside, and there had been a couple people around before as well. It was scary.

_.end part one._

---------------------------

_**Dear DIE-ary,**_

_... Eff and D-boy were fighting today. About me actually, and about.... happiness. It made me think. Would I really know if I was happy, after such numbing despair for so long? It was a confusing idea, D-boy had brought up, but then I thought of something I did know. And it was related, in a sense._

_Is life, life, without death? No. How would you know if you're alive, if you didn't know what death was? How would you separate middle and end, if you knew no end? That would make the middle disappear entirely. Its all relative, could you point out the middle of something that never ends? No._

_So yes. I would know.... know if I were ever to be happy,_

_"Stop Smiling"_

_I should stop listening to D-Boy. He only depresses me.... I miss Nailbunny...._

_"Sigh" I have a whole room full of shit-lumps disguised as human beings, un-tortured!_

_Duty Calls._

---------------------------

_.part two start._

Johnny stood, sipping at his cherry-flavored beverage as he watched the scene unfold. It seemed that a little boy had been trying to buy a six pack of Heineken for his father. The maniac tilted his head in thought, the whole convenience store silent as the boy cried softly. That bear looks kind of familiar... Johnny C. sucks loudly on his Brainfreezy, and the boy's head whips around to face the loud noise in the quiet space. His doe eyes widen, and the murderer's face breaks into a delighted (if not crazed) smile.

"Squeegee! What brings you here, at this late hour of the night." With a few long steps, the thin man is behind the boy, who is looking over his shoulder at him. As an after thought, Johnny adds: "The streets are a terrible place for a nice little Squee at this time... What are you doing here?" the last part is spoken louder, and directed at the still softly crying child.

"Heh, what a fag," That same idiot teen speaks again, as he chews a stolen stick of gum. The so called 'fag'slips a dagger out of his sleeve, "That cry baby's probably his little fuck toy, h-"

The teen doesn't get out that last 'heh', he isn't able to actually; seeing as how both his trachea and jugular vein just got sliced open. Squee.... 'Squee!s' in fright and backs up against the counter, holding Shmee in front of him, as if to both protect himself from the Scary Neighbor Man, and the blood being spewed from the dying teen's neck.

Other people are screaming too, but Johnny only really noticed Squee's, with an apologetic and abashed expression he turns around and conceals the blade. He takes a few steps closer and lets a reassuring smile grace his pale lips.

"Sorry about that Squee, here, let me walk you home. It is Tuesday after all." Johnny is still holding the Cherry Brainfreezy, and now picks up the pack of Heineken. He doesn't look back, but casually slips a pipe bomb out of his pant leg, and pushes the door open.

At first the child doesn't follow, but soon enough a light jingle signals that a second person has exited the 24/7. Both of them were silent on their trek to their respective homes.

-

While the two of them hadn't spoken a word as they walked back from the convenience store, not even when said convenience store erupted into smoke and flame; Johnny couldn't help but wonder what little Squeegee had been doing. And why his father had sent him to do it. It was all very perplexing. But the maniac put those thoughts to the back of his mind, and instead plopped himself down on the couch and flicked through the channels until he found a good commercial to watch.

_**"AHHH, MOMMY! –SPLOOOOSH-"**_


	3. False Frienships

_A/N: Hello again, sorry for the long wait for the update. My computer decided to join Pepito and his father in the Basement, so I had to get a new one. Gee, I look this chap over and find it to be quite boring.__ I've been reading some other JTHM fics and they're all so good! It makes mine look like dookie-cakes in comparison. Well… enjoy… I guess:  
(This chapter is not yet Beta'd yet, but I really wanted to post something up, so bear with me :) )_

_Oh and just to tell you this is Umm... kinda AU. The same things all happened, but not in the origional order that's seen in the comic. And the Dear Die-Arys dont _fit _with the story; they're relevant: Yes. But they're just the most recent entries I've decided to put in the middle of the chapters :3)_

* * *

Johnny stretched; a contented sigh leaves his ash-colored lips. Subconsciously rejoicing at the familiar feeling of his shrunken stomach being filled by a sweet, sticky Brainfreezy and a terribly spicy bag of Señor Salsa chips. Although he had finished it an hour ago, warm tingles ran down his spine. And while it had only been an hour ago also, when it had happened, the maniac had near-completely forgotten about Squee. There was a loud crash from one of the surrounding houses, the noise is muffled only by the walls from where it was being emitted from, seeing as how there are no windows in house 777. Johnny ignores it.

"You know, you really shouldn't be so at eazze…" a Voice hisses from somewhere behind the raven-haired man, who in turn clenches his jaw in irritation. "What with the horrible thing you did not too long ago. Nny, they-"

"-Deserved what they got!" another Voice stole the words from Johnny's mouth, this one has a more guttural and grating edge to it. "Ha! Fucked em up like a cat on crack! Their lives ended so swiftly in that one little explosion, magnificent! You haven't used one of those pipe bombs since that incident at Café le Prick!" The maniac screws his eyes tight, willing the two away.

"You and your fucking End! Silence yourself, _Mr._ _Fuck_!! What he did was nothing to be proud of." The former Voice hissed at the latter, a sharp note of irritation ringing through its words. For a moment Nny finds himself interested in what the Voice is saying- "It was done for all the wrong reasons! All he managed to do was distance himself further from ever having someone to be under the moon with. All alone, but there is a way to fix that. Johnny, boy- come now, it's a lovely night to 'fly over the stars'." -No… no, Johnny waves it away as the same old shit. He tries to block it out, but the latter Voice barks out his reply to the statement which had not even been directed at himself.

"You and _**your **_fucking End! He'll never come over to your side, _Psycho-doughboy_. You're the same shortsighted mite as you ever were to think he would give up the ability to answer all his questions. He neeeds the answers, and listening to you won't ever help him find them!" It growls and the squeak that followed the last word alerted the man that the Styrofoam Mr. Fuck was now flipping the bird to his counterpart. He almost smiles at this. "**I **am his friend, so SHUT UP! Can't you get over the fact that your damn master will never- H-hey! Nny!"

Halfway through Mr. Eff's routine 'I am his friend, so shut-the-fuck-up' speech, Johnny had gotten up off the couch and walked right past the two and their place on a small rotting desk. That speech switched back and forth from the both of them, the maniac had learned to just leave when they started up with it again. 'I'm your friend= be a good little slave.' 'I'm your friend= get your ass up and keep that shit's master behind bars!!'. It all got really tiring, really fast. In fact, Johnny was learning to just not react as opposed to the violent and immature out breaks he used to have when discussing anything with those two. It kept the length of their bitching down, atleast.

Through a doorway with no door, he found himself in the kitchen, the two Figments' bickering muffled only slightly. He's still hungry, and promptly decides that Sketios are in order. With a bowl in the microwave and a spork in hand, he leans against a counter, not even noticing the Bub's Burger Boy sitting next to him.

_(end part one)_

* * *

_Dear Die-Ary,_

_This evening I met little Squeegee at the 24/7, he was as _adorable _('No scratch that'): Innocent to most evils of the world as ever. Although I'm quite concerned, he was doing something there he wasn't supposed to be doing… but I- … can't really recollect. Fook. It must have not been all that bad I guess, he's such a good little Squeegee anyways. Far more than capable of handling his damage, so I'll put it to the back of my mind._

_Don't forget about it though… That's been happening too often for my liking. With my past already lost to shadows, I can't afford to lose anymore of myself._

_I saw Squee tonight. I saw Squee tonight. I saw Squee tonight._

_Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny, Nailbunny…_

_Don't forget him. He was good. He was a part of me, unlike __**them**__._

_They're fighting more often now. Who is "Master"?  
_

* * *

_(part two start)_

The grey and black striped long-sleeved shirt hugged his skeletal frame like a clingy chimpanzee. Just the way he liked it. Johnny the Homicidal Maniac hunched over a couple pieces of paper, pen in hand, and light from the single lamp casting deep shadows on his face. But every semblance of an idea escaped him before he could grasp it. He let out a frustrated grunt and threw the pen across the room, leaning back against the wooden chair. Two of its legs came up off of the floor, but it did not tip over. Johnny didn't consciously think about it, but it could have been due to the fact that if he were to fall in that position, he would be impaled by the box of Christmas Decorations and Torture Devices that rests behind him. D-boy scowls, Eff smiles manically.

"Johnny C. it's been a whole two days since you've painted the wall…"

_(chapter three end)_


	4. Taco Hell to

_Chapter 4:_

To say Taco Hell is in chaos would be an understatement.

"**AHHHH! MY PANCREAS!"**

"**MOMMY IT HURTS!!"**

"**HEEEEEEELP, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!??"**

"**OH GOD- WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO WITH THAT SPORK!?? AUGH!!!"**

_Things that make noise._

Through all the screaming and commotion, Johnny finds himself torn. Now- should he be pissed that these pathetic human excrements weren't staying still so he could kill them? Or amused, because although the door was wide open, the soon-to-be moose food opted to instead run in circles than escape.

Neither, Nny decides he will just be content that there will be that much more blood. It _had _been a while since he had fed the wall monster last. Since he had blown up the biggest reason for him to leave the house, the wall had been neglected in favor of sketios and Television. _Luckily _D-boy had reminded him. But after all these years of serving it, Johnny often finds himself wondering what would happen if he stopped painting the wall. He never will though, the thought of possibly unleashing something so terrible onto reality that it strips it of substance worried the thin man. It would mean the inability to find answers, and that prospect terrified him.

The maniac calmly wipes his hands of the red with one of those cheap, brown napkins, and retrieves his spork from a still twitching man's brain. The spork has served him well, and will appear in his next Happy Noodleboy comic. Johnny nods in affirmation of this, then surveys the destruction, it looks like Armageddon came and went. Perfect. The Blood-Buckets, all five of them, one by one are sloppily filled by the whistling manic-depressive young man. His now gloved, lithe fingers scrape at that crimson substance that has collected on the tile pattern floor, only to release it into a weathered paint can. With only one last scoop, he is finished. The smile that breaks his face is something from a demon's lullaby.

The maniac pulls a knife from his belt and holds it in his hand for a moment, before swiftly slashing the twitchy man's throat_. 'Johnnyyyyy……Johnnyyyyy, Ssssssuuunnnnyyy-Deeeeeee, Feeeeeed Meeeeeeee,' _He looks down at the blade and growls, "Quiet, you!"*

--

The police were at the scene, they saw him; yes. There was a lot of panicked yelling, poorly aimed gunshots, and screams of horror, but with three Blood-Buckets held by the handles in his left hand, and two in his right, their lives were all spared. It made the 3 O'clock news, it did; it did. A small boy was interviewed, his darling brown eyes large as the reporter held a microphone in his face. He did little more than blink at the camera and clutch his teddy bear. But Johnny didn't see this; he, instead, was applying a fresh coat to the wall, humming Ode to Joy loudly over D-boy and Eff's fighting.

_(end part one)_

* * *

_Dear DIE-Ary,_

_Since when did I become so complacent? I feel as though…. Slowly, so very slowly, that my own creative mind is being drained. No… no, that was at first. Now it's happening faster, I couldn't even think of a new Happy Noodleboy comic, and that's saying something!!_

_Something is terribly wrong here- I'm bending to its will. How can I so happily serve it!? It's fucking wrong!! I kill because __**I want to**__. NOT because some ethereal THING wants me to! FOOK! THIS ISN'T RIGHT. I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, I CONTROL ME, __**I CONTROL ME, NO I DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING SUNNY-D SOJUSTSHUTTHEFUCKUP---  
**_

* * *

_(part two start)_

"Don't you know that it's im**polite tO WALK ON THE DEAD**!!?" Johnny leans out the boarded up window to scream, and then promptly whip a meat cleaver at the paper girl. _**Thunk.**_ The handle hit her on the temple, collapsing her skull, resulting in the poor girl's death. From inside the house Mr. Fuck cackles in delight, but upon seeing Johnny make no motion to collect the body, he steps from the shadows. His Styrofoam form illuminated by the afternoon sun.

"What are you doing? Go retrieve her body!" He barks at the maniac, waving a stubby arm in the direction of the door. "What's your fooking problem!?"

"I have enough blood." Johnny takes a few more breaths, calming down some. "At least enough for another couple weeks."

"Well, you can't just leave her out there! What if somebody notices!?" Nny turns to face the ghoulish figment. Said figment currently holds those stubby arms across the 'Z?' symbol painted on his chest. The maniac vaguely notes that Eff's shirt is ruffled a little… which doesn't makes sense because it's just painted on--

"Nobody will notice," His eyes wander the room, with its beaten up sofa and bunny-ear TV. They narrow into slits and focus back on glowing red orbs. "What's going on?"

"I don't know what-"

"Don't try to bullshit me!!" His voice cracks with the sudden raise in pitch, but he continues. "You're doing something to me!! You and that depressing little shit! You drained me of my ability to reason-- of Nailbunny! And turned me into your little slave! WHO IS YO**UR MASTER!?! WHY DOES IT NEED BLOOD, WHY DOES IT NEED ME!!??"**

"Don't group me with that little fucker! That **THING **is NOT my master!!" Fuck screams, his red eyes' glow intensifying as he advances on the hysterical maniac. His small form shakes with barely contained rage. "I BELONG TO NO ONE! IT DOESN'T CONTROL ME!! AND SOON-!" He pauses, now standing inches from Johnny. His features twisted into a mask of rage, shoulders jerking with imagined breaths. "Soon, **I Won't Need You. **I'll be _**fre-**_"

'_SQUEEEEEEE!!'_

The rest of Fuck's words went ignored; Johnny instead turns his attention to the view out the window again. Anger thoroughly doused, a small frown etches itself across his lips. Sitting on his tricycle, stock-still, Todd Casil stares at the dead little girl on his scary neighbor's barren lawn. Thoroughly interested in his friend's secondary reaction, the homicidal maniac, leans against the wall, long, bony fingers clutch at rotting wooden planks.

--

Squee got off his tricycle and ventured to the edge of the side walk, Shmee tucked firmly in his arms. He leaned forwards slightly, trying to see the face of Scary Neighbor Man's newest victim.

'M-maria?' he calls out timidly, bottom lip trembling and grip unconsciously tightening. 'Maria??' He wanders onto the road, with small unsure steps, until it was certain. The one girl in his class that was ever nice to him lay dead on her back in his neighbor's yard. Squee faints.

--

Johnny lets out a dark chuckle on the child's behalf, partially to hide the unease he felt at the unpredicted reaction. Partially just to hear his own voice, Mr. Fuck had stopped explaining his motives and goals… or something like that, and it was too quiet for Johnny's liking. And those weren't really the answers the pale man was interested in, especially with his attention drawn elsewhere.

Without realizing it at first, Johnny opens the front door and makes his way down his driveway, pausing for only a second to glance at the little girl, then to Squeegee. He steps out onto the road,

And is hit by a car.

…

"Fuck."

* * *

_A/N: Aren't I just lovely? And GUESS WHAT!?!?! I'm not updating until I have 10 reviews for this story. C'mon people! That's not that much!_

_Oh, and the whole Squee being OOC, with the whole crying thing, instead of just squeeing in terror and running away, or just standing in one place, staring off in a random direction, the most traumatized look in his widdle eyes? That'll be explained later… IF I GET REVEIWS!_

_**SOMBODY PLEASE LOVE ME!!**_

…_. Ps: *that whole thing with the knife being thirsty for Sunny-D: whoever can tell me where Johnny mentioned that gets a metaphorical cookie. And this chapter isn't Beta'd either. Cratbro is away for the holidays I guess…_

_UNTIL SOME UNDEFINED AMOUT OF TIME, Windup Dollie OUT!_


	5. Part II

_Chapter 5:_

_Hands up hi s shirt, running them over snow-white skin, the creature who wears it arches breathlessly. Bodies flush together, the room fills with gasps and moans and the constant rustling of cloth as they grab at each other. The one subtly smaller, daintier, than the other; allows himself to be pushed onto his back, falling into that familiar pattern of Submission. His lover's breath should waft over his face. Though the Dominate is panting out the beat of his arousal, it doesn't._

_The nails against his back go unnoticed, even when they puncture and break his skin. He doesn't feel it.  
The humid air, musty, with so much blood collected over the years; he doesn't taste it._

_Whirlpool eyes roll back, and the creature that belongs to them lets out another breathless moan. He basks in the heat of it. In the liquid fire that oozes from his partner's identical body, he shudders._

'_mm so hot. S-so, ahh! I..mm , eff, I lo-'_

"**-polite tO WALK ON THE DEAD!!?"**

Fuck stops. With an irritated snarl, his hand re-emerges from the white fabric of his partner's pants, and he stands up. He leaves the room, without so much as looking over his shoulder, but he hears D-Boy let out a shaking sob, and wishes that he had walked faster.

The Manic Voice got to the scene just in time to witness Johnny throw a meat cleaver out the front window. There was the unmistakable thud of a body collapsing to the ground. Despite himself, Eff lets out a delighted cackle at the display of mindless violence. But the rough noises come to a halt quickly, something is different in Johnny. Something had changed in him, and the simple fact of not knowing _**what **_brought on anger in the Styrofoam figment. He stomped (though being made of Styrofoam, his steps were inaudible) into the afternoon sun-lit living room.

Eff berates the maniac, arm gesturing in his irritation. Johnny, Jo_hnny,_ _John__**ny, JohnNY, JoHNNY, JOHNNY!!!!**_ _'Why does he ALWAYS have to __**FUCK EVERYTHING UP**__!??!!?' _He wanted to hit something, to break something, to make it cry and bleed. If it weren't for this fucking little **mite**_**, **_things could be perfect. He would be real, alive, he would be able to truly say **those words** back to the beautiful creature he left sobbing in the other room, and be able to feel it… In his pounding **Heart**.

He screamed. He kept up his character, the one he was created to be, instead of the one he grew to become. Fuck knew he'd said too much, he was shaking, panting, standing right in front of the maniac. His small form shaking with barely contained despair.  
But Johnny turns from him, his attention redirected to something outside, though this goes unnoticed to the Head Voice for another minute. And he continues on, trying to justify to the air why he should be free… be allowed to be happy. His whispered monologue comes to an end and he knows if he were just a little more Real, tears would be flowing down his face. _'It's not fair,'_

Fuck lets out a quiet wail, a meek attempt to vent new found _emotions _that came with the transition. The door opens, and the pastry display stand gives himself a couple more moments to compose a look of a macabre manic on his face, before following Johnny out. He got no more than halfway to the sidewalk when an ear- splitting squeal sounded, followed closely by a sickening crunch. In the time it took for Mr. Eff to gasp, he was spattered in blood with a corpse at his feet.

"Fuck."

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_**I seem to be dead.**_

* * *

Screaming. Words that hurt, words that bruised and scarred. He tried so hard…. _**So hard**_, to do things right. To make daddy happy, and make daddy love him. Shmee says it's not worth it.

"_You fucking __**bitch**__!" _Mean words.

"_You ruined my life," _Words he doesn't understand.

"_Why did you have to be born!???" _Questions that he had no Words to answer.

"_**I hate you**__." _Words that not even the innocence of a child could dampen.

PART II

_Shmee says I should kill them._


End file.
